It was a bad idea. Flanna knew it, could feel the badness of it seeping into her bones, but pushed open the door to the nightclub anyway. She had to blink against the smoke that immediately sucked toward the entrance, as if the outside was eager to gulp it down. It made her wish even more fervently that she could have found a flight back to the UK that night instead of the following day. She’d spent too long in the States; simple things like remembering the smell of her Nan’s fresh bread instead of the damp and blood that seemed to follow her everywhere were leaving her heartsick. It was more than time to go home again.
Leaving was for tomorrow, though.
Tonight was about forgetting. A few hours of pretending that her body wasn’t battered and bruised from the past week of racing along the
